Showdown
by moonchaser1
Summary: The Airwolf crew must fight against time and an unknown enemy in order to save one of their own.
1. Prologue

**Showdown**

A/N: Ok, these darn muses just won't leave me alone. My String, Dom and Caitlin muses are insisting that we keep writing stories for them. Do they not know just how much real life work I've got piling up that's going undone?

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story. I'm just borrowing them for some fun.

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Strong arms grasp suddenly from behind, holding her tight in a viselike grip. A second pair wrap around her throat, squeezing unmercifully as she fights instinctively. Gasping for air, she can't get a breath, and her body immediately goes into alarm status. She frantically searches her assailants face, but can only focus on a pair of bottomless brown eyes peering out from under the black mask covering her captor's face. She fights as hard as she can, her police training coming back to her automatically as she tries to kick strategically, break her assailants' hold on her. But there are two of them. She's outnumbered and quickly overpowered. And without the oxygen she so desperately needs, she begins to weaken, blackness drawing at the edge of her peripheral vision. _This is bad_, she thinks, _real bad_.

Her hands start to tingle, her legs bend on their own, then completely give way. The blackness overcomes her and the last thought Caitlin O'Shannessy has before giving into the darkness is not what is happening to her, who these people are, or why it's happening, it's simply whether she will ever wake up again.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story. I'm just borrowing them for fun.

Chapter Two

"String, you seen Cait?"

"She left a while ago to go pick up the contracts from your new film client. Isn't she back yet?" String wiped his hands on a shop towel, removing some of the grease and dirt from between his fingers. He'd been working on the Jet Ranger's tail rotor.

"No, and she said she'd be straight back so we can finish laying out the plans for this new flyover shoot this guy wants us to do. I want to impress him, so he'll use us for his next picture too."

"How long she been gone?" String wasn't sure where the time had gone today. When Cait was in the hanger, she was always laughing or talking while she worked. Her bubbly personality filled the place. He realized he must have been very fixated on that tail rotor repair to realize it'd been so quiet for very long. He made a mental note to tease Cait about that when she got back.

"A couple of hours maybe," Dom answered. He took off his trademark red satin cap and scratched his head with the bill before sliding the cap back in place.

"Aw, don't worry, Dom. She's probably caught in traffic."

"You're probably right. She mentioned picking up pizza from Johnny's on her way back. That's probably where she is." Dom was trying to talk himself into not worrying. "I hope she gets my favorite."

String furled his nose. "I like fish Dom, but I hope Caitlin has more sense than to ask for anchovies." String began climbing his step ladder again to finish tightening the bolts on the tail rotor. He wanted to finish the repair job today. He was almost done. "She'll be here soon, " he said without turning around again.

"Yeah, yeah," Dom muttered. "And hopefully with anchovies."

Another hour passed in relative quiet, String working out in the hanger bay on the helicopter while Dom worked on the books in the office. String smiled to himself when he'd hear the older man curse from the other room. "We must need to pick up a few more jobs this month," he thought. But as he worked and the minutes slipped by, String became uneasy with Caitlin still being gone on her errand. He climbed down off the ladder and headed for the office.

"Dom," he began. "I'm beginning to…" Dom cut him off, "Yeah, me too String. This is starting to not feel right. Caitlin wasn't going that far. If she'd had a change of plans or something, she would've called."

"Call Johnny's and see if she's been there. I'll get changed and we'll take a little ride and see if we can spot her. If nothing's wrong, she'll be mad at us for being worry warts. If it is, she'll be grateful for our intuition."

"In our line of work," Dom said, referring without saying to the missions they flew for the Firm, "your intuition can keep you safe."

Dom picked up the phone book and looked up the number to the pizza place and placed the call. As String began to shrug out of the work overalls covering his street clothes, he could hear the muffled sounds of the man having a brief conversation in the office.

The door to the office slammed as Dom came out. "She never made it to the pizza place String. She never even placed an order."

"Do you have the address of the film company office she was headed for?"

"Yeah," Dom said, waving the little piece of paper in his hand. "Got the address they gave us right here."

"Lock up Dom. I'll meet you at the Jeep." String turned on his heel and strode purposefully toward the hanger exit. Stopping at his locker, he reached down and picked up his duffel bag. Unzipping the bag, he removed a handgun, carefully packed away in a carry case. "Dom was right. This doesn't feel right at all," he said to himself, shutting the locker door and tucking the firearm inside a holster he attached to his belt. His jacket covered the weapon perfectly. He stood up and headed toward the Santini Air Jeep, a bad feeling beginning to stir inside him.

Twenty minutes later, String and Dom pulled into the parking lot of the address for the film company that Dom had written down.

"Are you sure you wrote down the right address Dom?" String asked. Steel blue eyes canvassed the area. They had driven into a depressed part of town, a former industrial area. Many of the buildings were boarded up, the few that weren't were haggard looking. The building they pulled up to matched the address on Dom's paper, but had long ceased to be used as office space. Weeds grew between the cracks in the concrete walk, a faded "For Lease" sign hung haphazardly in the glass window.

"Yes, I'm certain this is the address he gave me," Dom answered. "I remember asking him to spell the street name." Dom turned to look at the younger man. "This is it."

String peered through the tinted glass, unable to see anything helpful on the inside. "Well, it's obvious she isn't here."

Dom's brow furled. "What if she came here and ran into trouble String?"

String was looking over the parking lot as close as possible. "No sign of a car being here recently that I can see. Come on, let's go. We'll back track another route back towards the hanger. Maybe it's a simple case of car trouble." Inside, String's gut was telling him it probably wasn't just a simple case of car trouble, but something much more sinister.

"Ok, kid. Let's get out of here." Dom buckled his seat belt as String started the Jeep. Reversing the Jeep away from the building, String was shifting into first gear when Dom suddenly shouted at him, causing the younger man to stop suddenly. "String, WAIT!"

"What is it Dom?"

"Over there, look..." Dom answered, his voice breaking off.

Hawke's eyes followed the direction the older man's finger pointed. Partially out of view around the side of the building there appeared to be an object behind the overgrown landscaping bushes. It appeared to be a vehicle. String stepped on the gas and quickly darted over to the area. The Jeep was barely stopped as he and Dom barreled out of the vehicle to dash over to what they'd found.

"Oh God, String..."

String finished the sentence for his mentor. "It's Caitlin's car." Pulling open the driver's side door, String noted the car appeared to be in its usual immaculate condition. Caitlin loved her little sedan, and kept it clean as a whistle. The keys were gone, no sign of a struggle. It was obvious that Caitlin hadn't been the one to park it behind the bushes. The driver's seat had been slid back to accommodate a driver with longer legs than Caits.

Dom reached through the passenger side window and opened the glove box. Nothing was out of place. He pressed the trunk open button he knew would be inside the glove box on this model of car. The trunk lock popped loudly and lifted about an inch. The two men locked eyes, knowing they had to check the trunk, somewhat scared of what they may find. With trepidation, they walked behind the car. String carefully lifted the trunk lid, steeling himself for what he may find.

"O Mamma mia," Dom sighed, lifting his eyes to heaven after peering into the trunk of the car.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story. I'm just borrowing them for a little fun.

The blackness unfolded slowly, creeping back into the dark shadows of her mind as Caitlin O'Shannessy slowly awoke. It took a minute for her to come to herself, to dare to open her eyes. Taking in a deep breath, she gingerly lifted her eyelids, but where darkness had once been, now only a foggy glare remained behind.

_I'm alive,_ was her first coherent thought. _They didn't kill me_. Feeling in her body was returning, and she realized she was laying down on a cold hard surface. _A dirt floor_, she thought. She lifted an arm slowly to her head, rubbing her temple in an attempt to ease the headache that assaulted her. Carefully, she used her other arm to push herself into a sitting position. The motion sent a rush of nausea to her core. She took a deep breath and willed it away. _Ok, Cait. Just sit here another moment until you're yourself again_, she instructed herself. She began taking deep breaths to help her body recover from the stress and trauma she'd been through.

AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW

"Damn it, Michael. What do you mean you don't know anything?" Stringfellow Hawke turned his back on the spy and paced across the office of Michael Coldsmith-Briggs, known to Hawke and Dominick Santini as Archangel. As one of the directors of the Firm, Archangel had always been Hawke's go-to guy. Hawke wouldn't admit it, but the man dressed all in white was also a friend. At the moment, Hawke was frustrated with him.

"Hawke, calm down. We have to do these things methodically so we don't miss something. My people have gone over the car with a fine tooth comb. The only fingerprints to be found anywhere were Caitlin's, yours, and Dom's. Anyone else who may have touched that car did so wearing gloves. We found no fibers, and no evidence to collect DNA from. This leads us to believe that Caitlin was taken outside of the car, and the car was placed behind the bushes afterwards." Michael limped around his desk, leaning on his cane for help before sitting once again behind the large mahogany desk.

"What about the note?" Dom queried.

Michael leaned forward to address the older man directly. "Dom, our team is still analyzing the note you found in the trunk."

"Thank God that's all that was in the trunk," Dom interjected.

Michael continued, "There were no fingerprints on the paper itself, so they are doing a handwriting analysis as we speak. An analysis may tell us what kind of crackpot we're dealing with here," Michael turned his head as he spoke and nodded an acknowledgement to his assistant Marella as she walked into the room to join them. Marella walked over and handed Michael several file folders.

Hawke stalked back over to Michael's desk, anger bubbling up. His blue eyes were the color of cold steel. "So what the hell do we do now?" he seethed, slamming his hands on the desk in front of the spy to make his point. Frustration was very evident in the young pilot, both in his rigid body language and tone of voice.

Marella spoke up in a calm voice. "For now, we do what the note said. We wait to receive a call if you want to see your girl again."

Michael added, "And we go over the list of suspects again. Both Caitlin's and yours. Who all have you pissed off lately?"

Dom pointed his index finger at the duo in white, as if to defend the missing redhead. "Caitlin is sweet as honey to everyone she meets. She has no enemies. So this has to be someone with a vendetta against Hawke or me."

"And more likely someone from one of our past missions for the Firm. The list of scumbags we've dealt with on your behalf is a mile long," Hawke added.

"And we've already started checking with our operatives to see what the most rogue of them are up to, Hawke". Michael looked through some papers in a file that Marella handed him. "Most of these guys are either still out of the country, in federal prison, or..." Michael paused for a moment to choose his next words carefully. "They've been neutralized as a threat."

"It may be someone who wants Airwolf in exchange for Cait's life," String said matter of factly.

"That's always a possibility," Michael stated. "We'll deal with that when it presents itself."

"What about Horn?" Dom asked. "That scourge is still out there."

"And his daughter," Hawke added.

Michael thumbed through the file, pulling out a report. "John Bradford Horn and his daughter Angelica are still unaccounted for. Our last report states we believe they may have headed for Morocco."

"If it's him, I'll deal with him myself. I've got a score to settle. And so help me, he better not harm a hair on Caitlin's head." Hawke's eyes turned to mere slits, punctuating his words.

"String, we better get back to the hanger. What if they call and we're not there to answer?"

Hawke nodded. "Let's go. We're getting no real help here."

"Hawke," Michael stopped the men before they could exit. "You may not believe it now, but we are helping. I've already got a team at the airport on surveillance. You won't see them, but they're watching your hanger closely. They're in the process of putting a tap on your phone right now. So we'll get the call at the same time you do. Don't do anything rash. Let's work together on this."

"Thank you Michael."

"And Hawke," Michael added. "We care about Caitlin too. We'll get her back."

Hawke didn't answer, just nodded and turned to go. Dom followed behind. If he admitted the truth, Hawke knew that if he'd said anything after Michael's last statement, his voice may have betrayed him. They had to find Caitlin, and get her out of wherever she was. The redhead had come to mean more to him than even he realized she did. It scared him to face that realization that he couldn't imagine life without the bubbly redhead. He wasn't sure what he'd do if he never saw her smile or heard her laugh again, or listened to her go on and on about random nothings in that sweet Texas accent she had. He couldn't imagine what he'd do if something bad happened to her.

AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW

Caitlin was relieved as her vision cleared and her ability to focus returned to her. She'd been sitting on the cold hard floor of where ever she was for about 15 minutes. She'd checked herself out the best she could. She didn't seem to have any broken bones, but was bruised and scratched from the initial fight. Her whole body was sore, and she knew in the dampness of this place her muscles would stiffen up as well. They hadn't attacked her sexually, and for that she was grateful. She shivered at the thought. The needle mark on her arm and the bruise around it told her that after she'd passed out from being choked, they'd drugged her.

The redhead leaned back against the wall and took in her surroundings. Subconsciously she pulled her knees up in an attempt to keep herself warm in the coolness of the tiny room. Caitlin took note of the details. _Unfinished walls, dirt floor, ladder leading above_. A lone stark light bulb provided the only source of light. _I'm in a basement, no, a cellar,_ she whispered to herself. The room wasn't big, and had no amenities. _No windows, no exit door. No escape,_ she thought. Realization of how bad her situation was sank in.

"Come on guys, please realize I'm gone and come and find me", she said as she resolved herself to the fact that for the time being, she was going no where.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story. I'm just borrowing them for some fun.

Chapter 4

Stringfellow Hawke was intently focused on the task at hand. Cold steel eyes as narrow as slits, his attention drawn to the sleek gray metal piece in his hand. His fingers worked the cloth methodically over each crevice. Should he choose, he knew he could do this task with his eyes closed. He had to be ready, he thought. Because whoever did this to Caitlin is going to feel his wrath unlike never before.

Across the hanger, Dominick Santini sighed an audible sigh as he watched the young pilot he considered to be a son cleaning his hand gun. He knew it wasn't even necessary; Hawke was ex-military. His weapons were always in premium condition. This was just a way for the younger man to vent his frustrations about the situation they were currently forced into. Caitlin had been taken, and they didn't know yet by whom. Dom had his suspicions as to who could be behind it, but frankly, until the captor or captors played their hand, they were stuck waiting. And the waiting was agonizing.

Dom added another heap of sugar to his coffee and swirled the liquid round and round, his mind continuing to process. He looked over at the hanger telephone, willing it to ring. "Poor Cait," he said, not even realizing he was speaking aloud. "I sure hope she's holding up well and they're being good to her."

Hawke stopped in his tracks at the interruption of the older man's voice and looked up. "So help me they better. Cause there's going to be hell to pay. And if they've hurt her in any way, even hell is going to look appealing to them when I get done." Hawke went back to cleaning his gun.

"Our girl is tough," Dom countered. He thought it best to try to stay positive. He knew Hawke was fond of Caitlin, even if he was too stubborn to admit it. He figured he'd better do all he could to keep the younger man as calm as possible. "If I know Cait, she's already giving them what for,"

Hawke actually smiled as he thought back to when he first met Caitlin O'Shannessy. She was Deputy Caitlin then, a member of the aerial unit of the Texas Highway Patrol. And she was fearless. She took it upon herself to confront the sheriff of Pope County about the treatment of Hawke's friend Jimmy Blake. And she was attacked and almost abused by the sheriff's cronies for her efforts. That's when Hawke first saw her. He and Dom had helped her out of a bad situation on that deserted Texas highway. Most women would have turn tail and run after that, but not Caitlin. She just went back to the judge and got a warrant to see the prisoner for herself. She'd strapped on her police issued gun and strode right into the jail house and confronted the sheriff and his deputy again. She had more guts than most men Hawke knew. And although Hawke wouldn't have recommended that approach to her, he certainly admired her gumption. It was one of the things he loved most about her.

"Yeah," Hawke answered Dom. "They may call begging us to call her off."

AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW

In the dingy cellar, Caitlin was doing her best to strategize a way out. "I don't know where I am, what's above me, or how many of them there are," she said aloud to herself. "This should be a piece of cake, right?" her voice wavered with sarcasm. She blew a strand of her red hair out of her eyes, and decided to put her plan in motion. "Here goes nothing," she whispered.

She crossed the room into the tiny alcove that led to the exit. Climbing the ladder attached to the wall, she banged hard on the top of the door, not letting up. Her added her voice next. "Hey! Heeeeey! Someone answer me! I need out of here! Come on, I need to talk to you!" She continued her mantra for a good five minutes. She knew at least one person was above, she could hear the occasional heavy footsteps.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, she head the footsteps cross the floor, coming to stop over the trap door. She heard something heavy drug off the top, then the trap door slowly began to creak open. The sudden light crashed into her eyes, causing her to step off the rung back onto the dirt floor and use her arms to shield her eyes from the sudden intrusion of light.

"Shut UP down there!" came a deep voice.

"Hey!" Caitlin yelled back indignantly. "I gotta use the little girl's room."

"Too bad, lady." the voice answered. "Make do with what ya got."

Caitlin wasn't about to give up that easy. "You don't understand, uh sir." She thought maybe a nicer approach would help. She softened. "I *really* got to go. I don't feel so good either. Please, sir. Please just allow me a minute of your time. I promise not to ask for anything else." She looked up, hoping he could see her face. She drew her eyes into large puppy dog eyes, and tried her best to appear weak and fragile. There was no response, and Caitlin was about to start to fake crying when out of the blue the answer came.

"Oh, alright. I suppose so. But just for a minute," the man acquiesced and pulled the heavy wooden door open wider.

"Oh thank you sir!" Caitlin exclaimed. She climbed almost to the top of the ladder, then paused. "Help me out please?" she pleaded. She held her arm out to the stranger. "I'm still a bit woozy I'm afraid." Cait got her first look at her captor. He was a big guy, dark hair, probably stood 6 foot in his boots.

"Hurry up, missy," the guy answered, and leaned over the opening to take her hand to help her out.

At that moment, Caitlin took advantage of his imbalance and pulled the man hard. Ducking to her left, she pulled with all her might, and the burly captor screamed as he tumbled through the hole. She heard the sickening thud as his body hit the hard floor. She heard his cries of pain. "Take that, you goon!" she yelled as she pulled herself up and out of the cellar that imprisoned her. She let the wooden door drop shut behind her. Looking around, she appeared to be in a farmhouse of some sort. Spying the heavy kitchen table, she drug it roughly across the room, allowing the table leg to rest atop of the trap door. "That ought to hold you!" she yelled at the door.

Glancing quickly around the room, she hunted for a telephone. But the kitchen was sparse. She carefully darted into the next room, in case he hadn't been alone. There was no one to be found. "The living room," she thought. In the background, a college football game played on the old black and white television set. Across the room, her eyes lit up as she spied the green rotary dial telephone hanging on the wall. "Yes!" she cried. She ran over to the phone and picked up the receiver. A dial tone was music to her ears. She paused for a moment, not sure where she even was, but then assumed it was going to be a long distance call. Deft fingers dialed the familiar number. Caitlin clutched the receiver with baited breath as she heard the line begin to ring. "Come on, come on, come on" she pleaded.

AWAWAWAWAWAWAW

Hawke and Dom were jolted out of their silent camaraderie when the hangar telephone began it's shrill ring. Quickly, Hawke dashed across the way, Dom right behind him. He grabbed the phone and barked roughly, "Hawke" in greeting.

"Hawke! Oh thank God!" came the excited voice on the other end.

"Caitlin!" Hawke practically shouted back. Relief flooded his body. He looked up at an anxious, but smiling Dom.

"Hawke!" she cried again. "Please come help me. They knocked me out and drugged me Hawke. I tried to fight them off but there was more than one," Caitlin cried.

"Cait," Hawke cut her off, wanting to get to the point of where she was. "Where are you?"

Caitlin realized at that moment that was the one question she couldn't fully answer. But she had a really good guess. "I'm not sure," she said shakily. "They drugged me, and I'm not sure how long I was out. I'm in an old farmhouse of some type. I don't know the exact address. She glanced down on the hutch next to the phone and saw the telephone directory. The familiar cover of the directory suddenly filled her in as to her exact location. "God in Heaven!" she exclaimed.

"Cait, where ARE you?" Hawke asked again.

"Hawke, I'm in..." but Caitlin didn't get to finish her sentence. Hawke heard the sounds of a muffled fight on the other end of the line. He heard Cait scream, then silence.

"Cait!" "Caitlin! What's happening?!" Something had happened to Cait.

He heard more noise, and then an ominous voice seeped across the line.

"Stringfellow Hawke," the thick accented voice said. "Just the man I wanted to speak to. You want your girl back? Then you get your ass to Pope County, Texas. We got a score to settle. And I'll tell you one time, and one time only. You leave that big flying saucer of yours behind, or you'll never see your girl again alive."

"Who is this?" Hawke's voice sliced through the phone. It couldn't be who he thought it was. He was dead. Hawke had seen to that on his first trip.

An evil cackle was his answer. "See you at the Hog Pen, Hawke." The line went dead.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story. I am simply borrowing them for a little fun.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

The swoosh of the rotors created a devilish swirl of the dry dusty dirt that was Pope County, Texas as Stringfellow Hawke brought the Jet Ranger in for a quick landing. Ever since the ominous phone call, he couldn't get his mind off getting to Texas for a showdown with Caitlin's captor. He was worried about his redheaded co-worker who had come to mean so much to him in such a relatively short amount of time. It seemed just yesterday that he'd met her in the Pope County jail. She'd been stubborn and demanding to the sheriff regarding Hawke's friend Jimmy. Caitlin had been very concerned about Jimmy's treatment by the crooked lawman, and refused to take no for an answer.

Hawke had realized there in the jail that it was Caitlin who'd been attacked by the sheriff's buddies out on that Texas highway the night before; he and Dom had scared them off in Airwolf. He shuddered to think what they'd have done to her. But a resilient Caitlin had gone right back to town the very next day. Hawke had admired her dedication to justice for Jimmy and for her conviction to do the right thing. Even when she knew she was putting her personal safety at risk in doing so. Not many women would do what Caitlin did so willingly. Not many would go up against Sheriff J.J. Bogan.

_Sheriff Bogan_, Hawke thought. _Had it really been that curmudgeon on the phone?_ Hawke wasn't sure how the so-called sheriff had survived the firefight Hawke had laid down with Airwolf that day. He'd blown up the jail. He knew the sheriff's cronies had escaped; Dom picked them up on infrared running out of the back of the building once they'd seen the power that Airwolf carried with their own eyes. But the sheriff had stayed firm and continued to fire at Caitlin and her chopper as well as at Airwolf. He would have continued firing until her hit her and disabled her ship. Hawke had no choice but to stop him. He had to take him out. He had assumed Sheriff Bogan perished that day.

Landing on the reddish brown dirt, Hawke's thoughts got back to the task at hand. "Dom," he spoke through the chopper radio. "I'm here."

"I got ya, String," came the voice of Dominick Santini across the radio channel. "Airwolf's camera is picking you up just fine. We can see everything you're doing."

"Well, just keep her out of sight," the younger pilot said. "Bogan said to leave Airwolf behind. Being seen might get Caitlin killed. Just keep your eyes on me and your radio open."

"Roger," Dom answered. "Archangel and I, we'll be laying low till you need us. Get our girl back." Dom turned to look at his co-pilot, Michael 'Archangel' Coldsmith-Briggs, deputy director of the Firm.

"I intend to do just that," Hawke said with determination. He unfastened his safety belt and hopped out of the Santini Air chopper he'd piloted there. He took just a second and adjusted his belt, ensuring his handgun was tucked safely inside his pants in a concealed holster. He slid his jacket on overtop his shirt to further conceal his weapon. He pulled off his aviator glasses and laid them inside the chopper, ready for wear again once he left. He briefly touched the second pair he had placed in the chopper; those he'd brought for Caitlin to wear. He prayed he would need those, that his plan would work and he'd be leaving with the pretty Texan by his side.

Hawke strolled slowly across the street towards the town's only bar. The faded sign of the "Hog Pen" did little to welcome patrons. The place looked rundown and a dump, and that was just on the outside. Hawke noticed that a new jail building had been built across the road. "Guess they needed a new one," he thought with a smirk.

The other thing Hawke noticed is that no one seemed to be out and about in the town. No cars driving down the only road in the town, no one milling about, not even a stray dog in sight. He could hear the faint sound of music coming from inside the bar, so he proceeded towards his meeting point.

Once inside the bar, Hawke remembered the smoky honky tonk as the same sleazy hangout it had been before. Unlike outside in the town, the bar did have several patrons hanging out; some drinking, some playing pool, all noticing the stranger who'd come into their sanctuary. Hawke didn't acknowledge any of the eyes he knew were on him. Instead he headed over to the bar.

"What can I get ya, cowboy?" a petite bartender came over and leaned across the bar. Her blonde hair pulled up and away from her face, piled high on her head added at least 4 extra inches to the short woman's frame.

"Beer," Hawke answered. He laid a five dollar bill on the bar and waited for his draft. The woman turned and went to fetch his ale, not saying another word. She came back shortly, drink in hand. She sat it down in front of him. "Here you go. Drink up," she said nonchalantly.

"Maybe you can help me out, ma'am," Hawke said, taking the beer and lifting the mug to his lips. _Watered down_, he thought to himself, and then took another drink.

"This ain't no bordello, cowboy" the woman countered her ire rising. "If that's what you're meaning."

"I think you got the wrong idea, ma'am" Hawke clarified. "I'm looking for someone. Got a meeting with him, if you will."

"Who you looking for?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow. Around this town, nobody new ever came, and if they did, no good come of it.

"The sheriff," Hawke said flatly. "He said I might find him here."

The woman was clearly shaken by Hawke's request of the town lawman. "You'll be better off just drinking your beer and being on your way out of town again," she said in an almost whisper as she leaned a little closer over the bar. "The law's works a little different round here than some other places." There was a hint of fear in her eyes.

"So is he here often? I'd go over to the jail, but he said to meet him here." Hawke wasn't going to give up easily.

The woman scowled at Hawke. He'd clearly shaken her and her response had been to clam up. "Be careful cowboy." She turned on her boot heel and stalked off, leaving Hawke to nurse his beer.

_So much for the welcome wagon,_ Hawke thought. He glanced around the bar, checking out the other patrons. The cowboys playing pool over in the corner had been watching him closely since he'd walked through the door. Hawke had felt their eyes on his back the whole time and he'd been on guard. He considered going over to attempt to engage them in a friendly game of billiards and determine if they worked for the sheriff when he was tapped on his shoulder. Spinning around to see who touched him, he looked down into the eyes of a young adolescent boy. He couldn't of been more than 12 or 13 years old.

"Son, aren't you a little young to be in a bar?" Hawke asked.

The boy didn't seem fazed by his environment. He looked up into Hawke's steel blue eyes with his own deep brown ones. "I'm supposed to give you this," he shoved a wrinkled piece of paper into his hands, then turned and ran around the bar and back through the kitchen towards the back door.

Hawke watched the kid run away, then looked down at the paper in his hands. Slowly, he straightened out the paper and read what it said.

"Come get the meter maid. The old grain mill warehouse two miles south of town off highway 28. Come alone or she dies."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story. I am simply borrowing them for some fun.

A/N: I'm still rusty in my writing style apparently. Fight scenes have never been my strong suit, so please grant me leeway here. But I'm giving it what I got. Thanks for reading and for your reviews. My Caitlin muse is getting antsy, she wants a bigger part in the story and doesn't like being a damsel in distress. I plan to bring her back to the forefront very soon, so hang in there for the ride!

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

"Dom, can you read me?" String asked. "I'm 4 miles out off Highway 28. The meeting point is an old grain mill off the road. Circle around and be ready if I need you. I'm not sure what I'm going into here."

"You want us to try to come a little closer and run video cams or a thermal scan?" the older man asked from the pilot's seat of Airwolf. "We're antsy here String. We got all this energy and so far no one's asked the Lady to dance."

"Negative," Hawke answered. "He made it clear I was to come alone. If he sees you it could jeopardize Caitlin's safety."

"If he's even got her there, Hawke. It could be a trap." Michael butted in from the engineer's console behind Dom. "Remember, you'll be able to speak to us with the mic we've wired you with, but you won't be able to hear us in return. If it gets hot in there, you say the word and we'll get you out." Michael paused then added, "You and Caitlin both."

"I'm going in," was the only reply he received. The Santini Air jet lifted once more and headed towards the old grain mill. Shortly, his destination came into view. "The property has a large warehouse like structure with silos on either side," Hawke said, giving Dom and Michael a description of the area. "That must be the mill. There's 2 sheds, a large garage and a lean to nearby, and a house about 200 yards away. All look abandoned."

"Are there any vehicles on the premises?" Michael asked.

"There doesn't appear to be, but they could be hidden in the garage. I'm going in the mill."

"Good luck Hawke."

Hawke set the chopper down near the mill and disembarked as the rotors slowed to a stop. He moved his hand to his belt and unlatched the safety strap on his holster as he strode cautiously towards the mill. He wanted the ability to pull his weapon quickly if needed. The wooden door creaked in protest as he pulled it open and entered what once was a production area. From the dust and cobwebs, it had ceased to produce anything long ago. Skylight through the tall windows near the ceiling provided a dingy lighting effect.

"Sheriff Bogan!" Hawke shouted, his eyes screening the area all around him. "Show yourself." Hawke walked slowly, anticipating any movement. All that met him was his own echo.

"I don't have all day. You want to talk to me, then let's talk!"

"Now, now, Hawke," came a deep Texas drawl from a darkened corner. Hawke spun around at the sudden voice. "I think we've got all the time in the world." A tall shadow emerged from the darkness. "I have a bone to pick with you, Stringfellow Hawke." The man took slow but deliberate steps forward into the light.

Hawke stared daggers at the stranger before him. "You're not Bogan," he said matter of fact. The man in front of him was tall and lanky, with graying sideburns and deep wrinkles around his eyes. He wasn't sure yet who he was, but he wasn't the sheriff Hawke had met on his first trip to Pope County.

The man let go with a deep, guttural laugh. "Oh but you're wrong. I am a Bogan. The last surviving Bogan, in fact. Roy D. Bogan's the name. J.J. was my oldest brother, and the best law man this town ever seen." The crinkle around his eyes disappeared and the pupils of his eyes turned to mere slits. "And you killed him for a meter maid."

Realization set in for Hawke. He hoped that Dom and Michael was hearing the conversation, so they'd know who they were up against. "Your brother was a murderer," Hawke stated. "He killed my friend Jimmy, and no telling how many others for sport. Caitlin was just doing her job, like your brother should have been doing. And he tried to kill her too."

"My _brother_ was the law in this town. Roy emphasized the word "brother". And he saw fit to protect his town in whatever manner he thought best. He kept order here. No one double-crossed him. No one. If anything, he was a hero." Anger flashed in the gray haired man's eyes. He pushed his Stetson that sat atop of his head back, "Now that he's gone, I run this town."

It didn't take a brain surgeon to see the younger Bogan brother wasn't playing with a full deck. No wonder the bartender had been so wary earlier. "We don't want any trouble, Bogan. You can run your damn town however you see fit," Hawke used Bogan's own words. "I came for the girl. Where is she?"

"In due time,." The man continued to stare at Hawke while he called out, "Boys!" Swiftly, two other men came out from their hiding spots and joined the self-proclaimed new sheriff at his side. "Boys, I have reason to believe this fellow is carrying an illegally concealed weapon. Confiscate it, if you will."

The men moved to Hawke's side. The tallest reached and pulled Hawke's jacket open and reached for the sidearm in it's holster. Normally, Hawke would've fought the men off, especially since one already had his arm in a sling. He wondered to himself if Caitlin had anything to do with that. But this Bogan guy was volatile and he still didn't have a location on Caitlin. He'd play their game, for now.

Bogan accepted the piece from his lackey, eyeing the gun. "Nice gun. You won't be needing it though."

"What is it you want from me, Bogan?" Hawke asked point blank.

"I want you to pay for your sins, Hawke. I aim to have us a little trial. Serve some justice for my belated brother."

"And I want to see Caitlin. That was our deal."

"You don't seem to be making the rules here, boy. I believe that is my job. You'll see the girl if I say you will, and only if I say you will."

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

In the farmhouse, Caitlin O'Shannessy was frustrated. After her escape from the cellar, Bogan had grabbed her while she'd made a frantic call to Hawke. She'd been so close to being free. At the moment, she found herself tied to one of the dining room chairs. She'd been pretty much left alone for a couple hours now. Duck tape across her mouth kept her silent. At least they hadn't thrown her back into the cellar.

Bogan apparently hadn't seen any need to hide anything from her. She'd already figured out that she had been taken by his men to lure Hawke back to Pope County. She was a pawn in a sick game. Bogan had ranted in front of her about how he was going to take great joy in exacting revenge for his brother's untimely death. How if it hadn't been for the meter maid and the chopper pilot nosing around in his brother's business, his brother would still be here running the town. The wild look in his eyes had scared Caitlin. This man was crazy. She also realized that because he spoke so freely, he also likely didn't intend for her to ever leave there alive.

Caitlin only hoped that when Hawke showed up, and she knew Hawke and Dom well enough to know they would, that they'd bring the Lady and introduce her to this man much like they had his brother. She'd figure out on her own a way to try to stay out of the cross-fire.

When she had heard the rotors of a helicopter arriving, she became concerned. There was no doubt it was Hawke answering Bogan's summons. What worried her is that those rotors were not the distinctive howl of Airwolf. She caught a glimpse out of the window of the Santini Air chopper landing over by the large mill. Hawke was going to be ambushed, and she had to find a way to help him.

Desperation filled her gut, hazel eyes darted. Then she saw it. The cowboy who'd been charged with watching her had left his glass of sweet tea sitting on the table when Bogan had summoned him to the mill to join him. _Maybe that's my answer_, thought Caitlin. _It's worth a try._ The redhead began to rock her chair in a forward and back motion as she scooted herself over towards the table. Awkwardly turning herself around, she used her fingers tied behind her to knock the glass over, spilling the drink on the floor. Her fingers clasped the now empty glass. Throwing her whole body into it, Caitlin knocked the glass against the dining table behind her. Nothing happened. She tried again. And again. And again. On her fifth try, the glass shattered, falling in pieces to the wooden floor. All that is but the large shard she still clutched between her fingers. Turning the piece around carefully, she began to slide the shard of glass back and forth methodically across the ropes that bound her. She willed the tears of frustration away, as the task was more arduous and slower than she'd hoped. With each pull, the ropes burned deeper into her skin. Undeterred by a little pain, she continued to saw fervently at the ropes that bound her.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

Back in the mill, Bogan paced in front of Hawke, waving Hawke's own weapon in front of him. Bogan's goons now each grasped Hawke's arms, holding him firmly in place. Wrestling out of their grasp had been futile without a weapon.

"I now declare this court in session. I, the honorable Roy D. Bogan will be your judge, jury, and executioner. Stringfellow Hawke, you are charged with murder in the first degree of Pope County's finest lawman, Sheriff J.J. Bogan." Roy stopped in front of Hawke, punctuating his next words by pointing Hawke's gun in his chest. "Son, how do you plead?"

Hawke was stoic. He kept quiet, shooting a death glare back at the unstable Texan.

Bogan became irritated. "I said boy, how do you plead?" The faux sheriff wagged his gun at the two men holding Hawke, indicating for them to let him go and step back. Hawke shook them off as they released him from their grasp, a scowl on his normally handsome face.

Hawke placed his hands on his hips, the rest of his body completely still. "I have a few things to say, Bogan. I think we can talk this out." As he spoke, he inched his hands further up his waist, towards his belt. "I plead not guilty." Suddenly, Hawke whipped one arm around his back, coming up with a second gun he'd had secured in a concealed holster. He got off a shot at Bogan as he brought the gun around. Like a cat, he rolled off to his right, diving out of the way of the return fire from Bogan. Bogan's men scattered, each moving for cover from the melee and reaching for their own weapons. Bogan fired at Hawke from behind a large piece of equipment. Hawke doing the same from the relative safety of large metal barrels. Bullets glinted off the barrels, sparks flying with each shot.

"Dom, if you can hear me, I'm going to need some help here! Caitlin isn't here. Repeat, Caitlin is not in the mill. Bring the Lady!" Hawke prayed his mic was working and Michael and Dom had heard his instructions. Bogan had stopped firing for the moment, Hawke assumed it was to reload his pistol. String turned suddenly at the quick attack from the younger of Bogan's henchman. Firing with deadly precision, the man dropped to the ground like a ton of bricks. Hawke whirled around, anticipating the other goon on his flank. No one was there. He was caught off guard by the whack of a two by four against his back that came from the opposite direction. Knocked forward by the surprise, Hawke was dazed by the blow. His gun clattered away from him, sliding out of reach on the concrete floor. Hawke grimaced in pain as he reached out for the weapon.

Before he could recover, the ominous figure of Roy Bogan came out from behind the metal mixer, gun pointed directly at Hawke. His goon moved back and to his side, still clutching the thick piece of wood that had Hawke now gasping for his breath and seeing double.

"Stringfellow Hawke," Bogan spat. "This court finds you GUILTY of the murder of my brother. You are sentenced to death by execution. Your sentence will be carried out..." Bogan raised his weapon towards the young pilot and fired a single shot, hitting Hawke squarely in the chest. "...right now."

Bogan lowered his weapon and tucked it into his belt. "Boys, lock this place up. Justice has been served. I want you to burn the mill and the house to the ground. Leave the meter maid inside." With an evil laugh, Bogan turned on his boot and strolled casually out of the mill.

Hawke lay on the cold concrete floor, unmoving.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Airwolf characters. I'm just borrowing them for a little fun.

A/N: Short chapter. Sorry about that. Real life has been getting in my way. I continue to work on this piece as quick as I can. The muses are not happy at the slow progress.

AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW

Fuzzy. Everything was cloudy, as Stringfellow Hawke slowly regained consciousness. Gradually the fuzziness cleared, giving way to a view of the ceiling of the grain mill. He realized he was lying flat on his back. _I was shot close range_ was his first coherent thought. _Am I in heaven or hell? _

Pain was his second coherent thought. _Feels more like hell_. A burning sensation seeped throughout his chest. "Damn," he muttered, reaching up to the area, expecting to come away with the stickiness of fresh blood of his hand. He was surprised to find his hand clean.

_The vest worked._ Forcing himself to a sitting position, Hawke took a deep breath as he unbuttoned his shirt to reveal the now Kevlar vest that covered his chest. He worked gingerly to remove the lifesaving device, taking a few seconds to inspect the damage to his gear. Looking closely at his chest, he rubbed gingerly at the angry red mark that marred where a slug would have entered, had it not been for the protection of the bullet proof vest. He silently thanked Michael for insisting he wear the piece under his shirt. Hawke buttoned his shirt back up, not caring that there was a large hole in it now. He tossed the vest aside, it was of no use to him now.

_I gotta get out of here and find Caitlin_, he thought. Pushing himself up off the floor, he staggered over to the door and pushed, finding it locked from the outside. Gaining better footing, Hawke threw himself up against the door, but the heavy oak refused to budge. The windows were located too high to reach to climb out. He was trapped. To make matters worse, the smell of smoke began to fill Hawke's nostrils. Looking for the source, Hawke looked towards the back of the mill. A thick black smoke rose to the top of the building, the light from the skylights beginning to dim because of it.

"Dom!" Hawke yelled aloud, hoping his mic he was fitted with still worked and his voice was being heard by Michael and Dom in Airwolf. "Can you hear me? Bogans' men set the building on fire. Doors are all locked! I need you to blast me out of here. Take out the west wall!"

Up in the sky, Dom turned to Archangel, who was seated in the engineer's chair. "You hear that?" the Italian asked. "Time to give my buddy some help." Dom lifted Airwolf into the air and sped off towards the grain mill. "Turbos, Michael!" Dom called. "Turbos engaged" Archangel answered. Both men felt themselves pushed back into their seats as the G forces took hold and Airwolf became but a streak in the sky.

Hawke was beginning to choke on the thick smoke that filled the mill. He could feel the heat creeping towards him, stalking him like a cougar would it's prey. Sweat dripped from his brow. _I've got to get low_, he thought, using his training and expertise to remain calm. Oxygen would be near the ground. The fire that was consuming the building was loud, but beyond it, he thought he heard a familiar cry. _Airwolf_, he smiled. _Thank you Dom!_ Crouching to stay low, he ran over behind the steel barrels and ducked, waiting for his opportunity to escape. He shielded his head, keeping his hand over his mouth in a vain attempt to not breathe so much of the smoke.

"I hope you're out of the way, son" Dom said into his helmet as he bear down on the mill. He turned his attention to his engineer. "Michael, give me chain guns one and two". Michael responded by deploying the pods. "Ready, Dom. Don't kill him."

Dom rolled his eyes. "I don't plan to," Dom answered, never looking back, but lining Airwolf up in a hovering position a hundred yards away from the door of the mill. Dom let loose with a barrage of gunfire, aimed at the door in hopes of taking the heavy wood door out. Satisfied he'd annihilated the door and half the west wall, Dom lifted Airwolf and moved back out of the way. He didn't want Airwolf's downwind to fan the flames of the fire that were now licking through the roof.

"Come on, String," Dom pleaded. "Come out of there." A few more precious moments ticked by. The young pilot failed to come through the door.

"Dom, I'm picking up activity around the back." Michael looked over the video monitor. Two of Bogan's men are moving away from the mill, headed towards the house. They've got gas cans with them. They're going to burn the house next."

"We'll let them go for now. We've got to get String out first." Dom responded. He grew more worried with each second. "I'm landing her, Michael. We're going in to get him." Dom's voice was etched with worry as he set Airwolf down in front of the mill.

The rotors were still spinning as Dom and Michael bailed out of Airwolf, running for the door to the mill. Just as they approached, the door swung open suddenly, falling off it's hinges from the force of the blow it'd received from the inside and it's weakness from the hail of gunfire. Smoke poured out of the door. Staggering through the opening, Stringfellow Hawke fell out of the door, his lungs embracing the fresh oxygen. He coughed and sputtered.

"String!" Dom called, dropping to his side. "Thank God! Are you ok?"

Hawke waved off the older man. "Fine," he sputtered. "Let's go," he paused to take in another breath. He couldn't get the words out quickly. "Catch them... before they hurt... Cait".

That was all Dom needed to hear. He half picked up, half hauled Hawke to his feet and they made their way over to Airwolf.

Once inside, Michael reengaged the video. "Hawke, those goons are pouring gas on the house. It's going to go up like a matchbox."

Behind the stick, Hawke turned the Lady towards the house. "Not if I can help it Michael." He paused to briefly cough. His voice was coming back stronger. "I think that's where they are holding Cait."

The look on Dom's face changed at his statement from one of concern to terror at the thought.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Airwolf characters. I'm just taking them out to play for a while.

Hawke hovered Airwolf over the house, his face molded into an impassive concealment of emotion. Several hundred yards away, the grain mill burned wildly out of control. Thick black smoke filled the air all around them. He was in serious mode, all business as he barked out commands to his team. "Michael, got any thermal images in the house?"

"There are two men on the outside, Hawke. They are apparently pouring gasoline all around the house. I'm picking up one thermal image inside the house, towards the center on the first floor."

"That must be Caitlin," Dom said, his eyebrows furled in worry. "We gotta stop those men from setting fire to that house."

Hawke swung Airwolf around and dropped lower, intending to confront Bogan's men head on. Feeling the intimidation of the battle chopper, the men stopped their hasty work and turned towards the ominous helicopter bearing down on them. They pulled their handguns and fired directly at Airwolf and her occupants. Bullets glinted harmlessly off of her bulletproof armor.

"I wouldn't do that boys," Hawke spoke firmly over the loudspeaker.

"String," Dom interjected. "Remember, you can't use any firepower. That whole place is an inferno waiting to happen. One shot could cause the whole place to explode in flames."

Hawke nodded in acknowledgement and addressed the cowboys on the ground. "You fellas got til the count of three to drop your guns and run for your lives. One..."

That was all it took. The cowards threw down their cans and ran for their waiting vehicle, praying hard to escape with their lives. As the old sedan peeled away from the house, the taller of the men leaned out of the window, tossing something small towards the house. The reaction was immediate. A fire trail burst to life and streaked down the trickled line of gas that had been drained, eating the ground and everything in it's path. The angry flames raced to the house, then attacked with a vengeance. The wooden frame home was going to be no match for such a beast.

Hawke swung the tail rotor around and deployed the landing gear. "Dom, take over the pilot's chair and go get them!" The wheels had barely hit the ground and he was out of the cockpit hatch, jumping to the ground and running full-speed into the burning structure.

Dom climbed out of the engineer's chair and scrambled into the pilot's seat. Within seconds, Airwolf was airborne again. With hesitation he turned the Lady away from the house and began pursuit of the fleeing sedan. He had wanted nothing more than to follow the younger pilot into the house to find Caitlin, but he knew Airwolf's rotors would just fan the flames and make things worse, not to mention Bogan's men were getting away. Drawing a new focus, his eyes turned a deep shade of black as he began a pursuit of the bastards who'd dared to do such a cowardly thing as trap an unarmed woman in a burning house. In the distance, Dom heard the wail of sirens. "Help is coming," he said to Archangel.

"Knowing this God forsaken county, let's hope it's help for the good guys," Archangel answered, ever the practical one of the team.

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

FIRE! Caitlin's eyes went wide with momentary fear when the rank smell of burning wood hit her nostrils. They were burning the mill, and now they are burning the house. She prayed that Hawke wasn't still in that grain mill. If she wanted to live, she knew she had to work harder to free herself of her restraints and get out of there quick. Thick smoke was pouring into the room she was in, fire was surely just on the other side of that wall. She sawed as quick as she dared against the ropes that cut into her wrists, praying the glass shard was sharp enough to do it's job. When she felt the tension loosen with the first piece of rope that fell, it gave her renewed hope. Pulling her hands taught, she sawed at the rope one more time until she felt the tension break for good. Her hands were free. She tossed the glass to the floor and went to work on her bound feet when she heard a loud crash from the other room. She worked fervently on the ropes that confined her to the chair. Finally free, she jumped up from the chair and ran to window. She was about to toss the chair through it to break it out, when she paused. Did she just hear someone calling her name from the other room?

**AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW**

"Caitlin! Caitlin!" Hawke used his arm to try to cover his nose, a fruitless effort to continue to breath fresh air instead of black smoke. Hawke's quick reflexes had helped him to dodge a falling log as what was once part of the upstairs came crashing through the weak ceiling. It was getting hot in here, and the fire was spreading fast. Every instinct he had screamed "leave". But there was no way he was going without finding the beautiful redheaded pilot first. He pushed across the room towards the other door. According to the thermal image that Archangel had, Caitlin should be in the next room. Not only was it getting hard to breathe, but it was getting harder to see through the smoke as well. Hawke heard the creaking of wood about to give way. He looked up to check the status of the ceiling and took two precarious steps forward.

"Caitlin! Cait-" Hawke let out an involuntary OOF as he was slammed to the floor. Another huge log now laid burning where Hawke had just stood as another gaping hole appeared in the ceiling. Debris rained down. Flat on his back, Hawke turned his head to see what had knocked him out of the way of the deadly strike. He felt like he'd been taken down by a linebacker. A heavy object cloaked him. "Caitlin!" he cried, the redhead looking up from atop of the pilot she had literally just blindside sacked.

She couldn't help a quirky smile. "Hawke!" she exclaimed. "I played backyard football with my brothers. Taught them everything they know." She patted his chest and scrambled off of the top of him. Hawke quickly jumped to his feet and grabbed her hand, pulling her along behind him. "Which way?" he shouted over the flames. Caitlin pointed towards the room she had come from. "There!" she cried.

Crossing into the other room, Hawke ran to the window and grabbed the chair that had previously bound Caitlin. "Stand back," he ordered, then swung the chair with all his might at the pane that separated them from freedom and fresh air. The glass shattered under the strike of the chair.

Caitlin grabbed at the curtains and jerked them down in one hard pull. Hawke knocked out the jags of glass that remained, then took the offered cloth and used it to cover the rough window frame. He helped Caitlin push herself through the window and drop roughly to the ground below. He bailed out behind her, dropping to the ground.

Both of them lay on the ground, taking in the fresh air and catching their breath. Hawke rolled over, taking in what he considered to be the most beautiful sight in the world, the dirty and besmudged face of one Caitlin O'Shannessy.

"Caitlin, are you alright?" Hawke sat up and extended his hand to help her into a sitting position. She accepted and pulled herself upright.

"Yeah, I'm good," she said, attempting to knock some of the soot from her clothes. That effort would be no use. She turned to face the handsome pilot. She spoke the first thing that came to her mind. "You owe me you know. I saved your life," she teased.

Hawke broke into a laugh. "Wait a minute. I came all the way to Pope County, Texas to save YOUR life. And I just about died as a result."

"But you didn't because I saved you from the ceiling collapsing on top of you," she reasoned. She lifted her finger to wag at him.

Noticing the deep rope burns that wrapped around her wrists, he said "Are you sure you're ok?" He held her wrists gently, inspecting the wounds.

"Yes, Hawke," she smiled at him. "I'm fine. Promise." She turned her wrists over, capturing his hands with hers, a sign of changing the topic away from any battle scars she might have. "Now, since we have apparently saved each other this time, just where is that big black battleship with the rotors? I'd really like to get out of this hellhole."

Hawke smiled. He loved this game, even after surviving the most dire of circumstances. "What helicopter?" he asked with as straight of a face as possible, letting go of only the slightest of a chuckle.

Caitlin pretended to be incredulous. "Why you..." but she never finished her sentence. Because at that moment Hawke silenced her with a tender, long awaited kiss.

TBC...


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Airwolf characters. I just take them out to play every now and then.

A/N: Thanks everyone who read and reviewed. This part will wrap up the story. Or will it? ;)

The long white limousine pulled up in front of the Santini Air hanger and parked. Inside the hanger, Dominic Santini craned his neck around the top of the ladder he was standing on, momentarily stopping his work on the top rotor of the chopper he was fixing. He rolled his eyes at the sight of the familiar car. Turning his head the opposite way, he shouted, "String! Caitlin! Come here! We've got company!"

Stringfellow Hawke sauntered around the corner, hearing the older man call for him. He carried a screwdriver in his hand from the work he had been doing on the Steerman. Looking past Dom, a visible frown appeared on his face with recognition of just who this "company" of theirs was.

The door to the office opened and Caitlin O'Shannessy came out, scratching her head with a pencil and carrying an arm full of papers. "Dom, for the life of me, you have got to start keeping better records! I can't make heads or tails out of these ..." she looked up to address her boss, but was stopped in her tracks when she saw the man in white and his assistant unexpectedly standing beside Dom. "Michael, Marella," she said in greeting.

"Caitlin," Michael acknowledged the pretty redhead. "You're looking much better than the last time I saw you. I trust you're doing ok?"

"Much," she smiled. "Although I still think my hair smells like smoke." She pulled a piece of her shoulder length reddish blond hair towards her nose to make her point.

"Michael," Hawke interrupted, ending the pleasantries. "Are you here to tell us you've found that bastard Bogan?"

"Yeah," Dom added with a scowl. "We want to know that scum is in prison where he belongs."

Michael looked down at the concrete floor of the hanger, a sure giveaway that the news he had was not going to please the trio before him. "As much as I'd like to tell you that we had him, it seems he got away before we could grab him."

Hawke crossed his arms in front of him. "He got away? Just how hard is it to track down a pompous, cartoon caricature of a lawman with a thick Texas accent? Hell, Michael. If I'd known your team wouldn't be able to drag that low life in, I'd have stayed in Texas and took care of him myself. Maybe I'll just go back to Pope County and finish the job if your team can't do it."

Michael couldn't help but notice that while Hawke spoke he moved quietly closer to Caitlin, so that he was standing elbow to elbow with her. A subtle, protective move on the pilot's part. "Hawke," Michael explained, "I was in Airwolf. As you know, Dom and I got his goons, but they didn't know where Bogan headed when he left the mill. We tracked him as far as the border. We have reason to believe he's hiding out in Mexico."

"Mexico?" Dom asked incredulously. "So while he's down there drinking margaritas what are we supposed to do?"

"Guys!" Caitlin felt she needed to be the voice of reason. "Let Michael talk. I'm sure there's more to the story, isn't there Michael?" She crossed her arms in front of her and gave the spy a reassuring smile.

"Thank you Caitlin," he said. "And yes, there is. Marella, show them the letter."

Archangel's brunette assistant stepped forward. She removed a folded piece of paper from her attaché case and handed it to Hawke. "This was intercepted by one of our operatives. It was scheduled to be delivered to you here at the hanger. We interrogated the delivery boy, but the delivery fee was paid in cash and it had been forwarded from Texas. A dead end I'm afraid."

Hawke snatched the paper from Marella. He read the words on the paper aloud. "You may have won this battle Hawke, but you haven't won the war. We will meet again someday."

"What's that mean for us?" Caitlin asked, a hint of worry edging into her voice.

"It means," Michael stated, "Roy Bogan has made it onto my top 10 Most Wanted list. We'll be actively pursuing him. He won't make it back into the states without us knowing it. And when he tries, we're going to get him."

Caitlin nodded and looked away, not liking knowing that yet another person was out there with a vendetta against the people she cared most about. Hawke noticed and wrapped an arm around her. "We'll get him Caitlin," he said softly but sternly. "Don't fear, we'll get him."

Caitlin managed a smile, her attitude once again portraying the toughness that made her who she was. "I know we will, because there is nothing that together we can't do. But I want to be the one who puts his sorry butt in the jail cell."

Dom broke into a loud laugh at his gal's ambition. "You got it, kiddo. You got it."

A thousand miles away, a tall caucasian man sat at the bar in a dustbowl of a town in the middle of central Mexico. Sunglasses firmly in place, his eyes shielded him from making contact with anyone directly. A cowboy hat covered his head. No one in the bar dared to approach the ominous figure. He lifted his beer to his lips and took a drink, barely wincing at the warmness of the bitter brew. Thoughts swirled madly through his mind.

Turning slightly on the bar stool, he stared emptily out of one of the dirty windows in the joint. Outside was a stark contrast to the dingy inside of the bar. The view from the window was of nothing but a sandy dirt road and the blistering sun. He spoke lowly what was on his mind. "Mark my words, Stringfellow Hawke. When you least expect it. I'll be back."

Fini.


End file.
